


With Whom I May Be Sincere

by Suzume



Category: Suikoden III
Genre: Childhood, Father-Son Relationship, Friendship, Gen, Growing Up, Loneliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-19
Updated: 2012-01-19
Packaged: 2017-10-29 19:47:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/323488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzume/pseuds/Suzume
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sasarai's first four friends.  One who never existed, one who taught him, one who learned beside him, and one he was determined to keep (even if he was occasionally a bit much).</p>
            </blockquote>





	With Whom I May Be Sincere

"A friend is a person with whom I may be sincere. Before him I may think aloud."  
-Ralph Waldo Emerson

 

The nursemaids indulged him - that was how he explained it to himself now. If darling little Sasarai, who was adored by practically everyone who knew him, asked for an extra place to be set for his "friend," they would set it. He was a delicate thing and word had come down from his father from the day of his birth that no expense would be spared in his care and keeping (though the extent to which these measures were observed would dependent on the degree of active involvement with the larger world from the father in question).

He reframed the memories so they made sense. Not everything in life was orderly, but people longed for such structure all the same. He was like his father that way: everything in its proper time, everything in its proper place.

It must have happened like this:

 

"And who is here to eat with you today, Sasarai?" Natalie asked.

"My friend- my," the small boy amended, "My brother!"

"Your big brother?" Ameko queried, "Or your little brother?"

"My little brother. ...Luc."

"Oh, is he shy? He looks just as cute as you," the women cooed.

 

Although he didn't really recall anything like that. They hadn't just met one day. Luc had just been there- he'd _always_ been there. Until one day he was gone, impossible to find in body or spirit. There were only blanks stares to be found in answer to his name when Sasarai addressed Mother Somme or Brother Sangyun or Dr. Miyo.

Bishop T'Rainfellour proved wiser in his response. "Right there beside you, isn't he?" spoke the man with the bi-colored hair. "Just like he always is."

Was the bishop right or was he wrong? Luc _wasn't_ there. ...Not in any way he could see, that was. But there were plenty of people in the Temple that weren't there. There were plenty of people in life who weren't. ...And how did he know Mother and St. Faldor and the heavenly messengers and all the rest existed if he never saw them outside of drawings (and there were no drawings of Mother, just a vague recollection of being held by a woman who might very well have been Miss Ameko or Miss Natalie).

They just were. There was only faith.

"Oh," Sasarai replied slowly, making sense of this. "Okay."

Luc was a different kind of friend than he had realized, but that was fine too, wasn't it? Ameko took his hand and lead him back to his bedroom where Natalie combed his hair and together all three of them looked through a book with pictures of flowers. They were all natives, with names in the ordinary tongue as well as the old, ceremonial Harmonian (which neither nursemaid read well enough to transliterate without some sounding out).

He was named sort of like the tiger lily and liked to look at flowers just as much in book as in the Temple's extensive gardens. Luc had little interest in flowers, but for the sake of his brother's desires he would listen. Luc didn't have an old name of that sort, but a common one. They were kind of different that way. Sasarai didn't think about why.

And they had different ways of doing the same things. It was typical of friends, wasn't it, that Luc liked to do what he liked to do (or did he simply enjoy following Luc's lead?)? They would read together (Luc was the better reader) and draw (they drew differently) and play all sorts of quiet games (Luc did not always adhere to the rules as he should).

They had done all these things before Sasarai was pressed to reconsider how Luc was. If they had been done in another manner once, well, he was quite small still, and it was easy to forget the old ways and learn anew.

 

There was a gradual changing of the guard that came with the turning of the years. Circles within circles. He was growing older. That was why Ameko and Natalie went, he assumed.

The differences between Luc and Mother and St. Faldor and the Sleeping Princess of the story and all the rest became clearer. There were faith and history and fiction and the past and all the overlap that came between them. But Luc was easy enough to place within that continuity.

It was not so unusual, Sasarai supposed, to have an imaginary friend (brother, twin). After all, his father appeared to have a great many of them (and, apparently, one of them resembled his son enough that their similar-sounding names were occasionally swapped in careless conversation). The difference was, one day Sasarai's had gone- relocated in that manner that regular friends of flesh and blood might do- but Hikusaak's always remained.

Although his father might go months or ever longer without seeing them, when they did sit together for tea, it was rarely with just two place settings. An aide would supply the dishes, but Hikusaak would lay them out himself: one, two, three, maybe four or five, sets.

He talked to as many people as there were cups on the table for.  
There was the other Sasarai, there was an Alfred Mercade, there could be Silverbergs or saints or foreigners, all depending on whom his father saw. Where he had once believed his august father truly saw people before him that no one else could see, he recast them now as something more like Luc (Hikusaak never spoke to, or of, Luc).

But when _they_ (his guardians, his guards, observers) said, "You are too old for imaginary friends anyway," Sasarai did not use his father as a shield. None but the blasphemous would compare himself to the holiest man living.  
"Yes, Your Excellency," the boy agreed in answer to Bishop Hikami T'Rainfellour. If his tutor said it, whether true or not, it surely was so.

"Until you also wear the hat of a bishop," Hikami had once declared, looking, as usual, both stern and pompous, "You possess insufficient rank and authority to argue with me."

Sasarai, ever ardent to obey by each rule he was given, accepted this without comment. The somewhat unorthodox Bishop Ryuichi Tang had another take on this policy. "Sasarai," he said, polishing an apple on his loose, white sleeve, "Hikami made that up. If he hadn't told you that, he would have come up with something else to keep you quiet. To the best of my knowledge, he's never liked being questioned- especially by children."

Sasarai didn't always know what to make of Ryuichi, but at least he was not alone in that puzzlement. The more generous adults around Sasarai wrote Ryuichi's oddities off as part of being "western" (whatever that implied). The less well inclined toward the dark-haired man said "Progressive" or just plain "crazy."

For whatever reason, Sasarai liked this man. Ryuichi invited him, in a way Hikami never did, to, "Please judge me for yourself."

"It's important to respect the authority of church leaders." Sasarai folded his hands on top of the table and watched Ryuichi eat. He was always eating. No one else within the walls of the Temple complex possessed such an enormous appetite.

Maybe he felt lonely eating by himself, but he often urged Sasarai to eat something too. Between meals, a cup of tea was all the boy could handle. In the hours where a lack of lessons coincided with Ryuichi's free hours on the Temple grounds, Sasarai had a tendency to gravitate toward the friendly bishop, which led to many such invitations: "Shall we talk? Would you like to have tea with me?"

When the tea was on the table, Ryuichi poured for both of them- Sasarai first, then himself. He added a generous serving of milk to his cup and a small dab of sugar. Sasarai added a similarly sized pinch of sugar to his own tea and then contemplated Ryuichi's serving of milk.

Ryuichi pretended not to notice as Sasarai managed to overfill his cup while emulating his favorite bishop. "So, you're going to be a bishop someday, Sasarai?"

"Yes. Maybe not for a long time. Or at least it will feel like a long time." Sasarai sipped his tea. It was easy for Ryuichi to picture him in the future, sitting at the round Counsel table in whatever chair he attained (surely he was not destined purely for bishop-hood, but for the Counsel as well- did pre-determined things not always go that way?), drinking tea just like this over official papers. Sasarai was already more like a tiny adult than any other child he had ever known.

"But it won't be as many years until you're ordained a priest."

"Sometime around the time I'm twelve or thirteen, I think. I'm studying really hard." He crinkled his nose thoughtfully. "...I'll be one of the youngest priests around, but it's not unheard of."

"Yes, I've met a few almost as young as that." ...But none of them were as cute as Sasarai. There wasn't anything odd about falling for a small boy like this, wishing he could be a father to him, was there? Sasarai was an awfully lonely kid, and while there were probably plenty of perks to having the chief priest as a father, as far as Ryuichi could tell, he lacked all the advantages of an ordinary father. How often did they even spend time together? ...Well, at least he seemed happy. With his new assignment to Crystal Valley, he would be able to try and fill in for Holy Hikusaak a little, he thought, although he was quick to chide himself for how presumptuous it was to think such a thing.

Suddenly, he realized how long he had sat without saying anything. Either Sasarai was involved just as deeply in his own thoughts and hadn't noticed, or he was too polite to say anything. Based on the way Sasarai usually handled himself manners-wise, it was a tough call. "...I think you'll be a good priest."

"Thank you."

"And I want to be around to help you with anything you need. ...As long as you need me."

"Thanks." Sasarai's face flushed a little and he looked straight down into his tea. "Probably I'm going to, uh," he mumbled, "Need you for a long time. So thank you a lot in advance."

"You're welcome. ...In advance," Ryuichi smiled. All he could hope now was that his appointment to Crystal Valley would hold (his Counsel position was assured for life, barring any catastrophes).

 

If there were anything he wanted to know, Sasarai would try and ask Ryuichi directly. That was what the bishop wanted from him- that they would be friends, that they would treat each other less like a high-ranking bishop and a young boy with nothing but his father's legacy to his name (though some legacy it was) and more like equals (frankly, it seemed harder for Sasarai to manage this feat than Ryuichi).

Coming straight at most subjects wasn't exactly the pinnacle of ease for Sasarai, but he liked and respected Ryuichi, so he would try his best. "I heard that you are- or were- something called a 'compromise candidate.' But I don't understand what it means."

"It has to do with when I was elected onto the Counsel. I won my seat even though I wasn't the first choice of almost anyone currently sitting, but both of the men who were my main competition were more polarizing. So, what ended up happening is that several key players within the Counsel got together and discussed their general feelings about all the candidates, the possibility of who would take any seats that opened up in the near future, and enough people decided they could stand me that they would vote me into their ranks. In any case, it doesn't matter to me how I got the seat." Ryuichi smiled. "They can't take it away from me."

"Didn't that happen once?"

"Oh, well, I see you follow your history lessons pretty closely then. It did happen once. But just once. It almost doesn't matter what you do- you can't lose a Counsel seat easily."

"Hmm, I see. I guess that means you can use your position on the Counsel any way you want. Even if no one likes you, there's nothing they can do about it."

"That's...a pragmatic way of looking at it. But, you know, if you don't work with the other Counsel members, you'll never get much of anything accomplished. Either that or the rest of them will easily dismantle it the moment you're finished."

"It's complicated," Sasarai decided.

And Ryuichi figured from that comment that Sasarai understood all of it very well after all.

 

It was unsatisfying knowing that most time when he received the opportunity to play with other children they were the charges, children, or other relatives of the Temple's clerks and clerics. Some of them (mainly the rougher boys) did a poor job of hiding their complete lack of interest in interacting with him. It only encouraged him to continue his preference for spending time with adults.

Not all adults he might have liked to follow around had the time or inclination to deal with his interest, but several successors to his old nursemaids were patient enough to oblige him- Father Raphael, Mother Somme, and, always, Bishop Ryuichi. In general, other two clerics, of lower rank, greater age, and more moderate political stances were well liked by most.

When it came to Ryuichi, there were some very strange stories. Curiosity drove him to investigate. The results, though undoubtedly tempered by what the people he talked to felt were proper for a boy his age to hear, were rather striking. The next time Ryuichi came by, he decided he would share them. They were hard to hold inside himself.

"There are some people who really, really don't like you," Sasarai frowned, running his toes through the grass, "I heard about it from Sister Somme."

"When it comes to the Counsel, there's somebody who doesn't like every one of us. It's a tough position to be in."

"But you don't regret holding it."

"No." Ryuichi's usual light smile drifted away, replaced by a stoic line drawn across his face. "Not one bit. Not even when it's difficult. It's the only way I can ever hope to see the changes I want to make become reality. The bigger your dreams, undoubtedly the larger the obstacles you'll face as well."

It sounded scary. That could only mean one thing. "Mr. Ryuichi, you're brave."

"Eh, myself, I'd say it's closer to desperation than bravery. A man does what he's got to do. ...I'm sure even you have dreams of your own."

"...Not the kind I'd go into danger for." Sasarai looked down at his feet. Compared to Ryuichi's, in his black uniform boots, they appeared awfully small. Ryuichi made them out to be so similar, but Sasarai knew how heavy the approximately two decades between them hung.

"You're young now. It makes sense that the sort of dreams you have now aren't the kind that you're going to have to fight your way through an ocean of mud to achieve."

"...It sounds difficult to be an adult."

"Ha ha, I promise it's not this hard for everybody. Some of us just make too big of a deal out of it."

"Bishop Hikami always says, 'Life is very serious business.'"

"Serious doesn't have to mean painful." Ryuichi's face gradually reshaped to showcase his everyday easy-going charm. "I think you're a very serious person, Sasarai. But maybe part of that's the company you keep."

"Are you telling me to lighten up?" How peculiar. Sasarai wrinkled his nose.

"Oh, not exactly. Just make sure you never loose your sense of humor. ...I think Hikami lost his."

"I..." The boy focused hard, trying to imagine it. Even Bishop Hikami had to have been young once. He had to have some kind of friends. To have fun sometime. "...I don't think he ever had one."

"Ha ha ha," Ryuichi tossed back his head, laughing uproariously. His long hair shone, splayed out in the sun. "There you go! I knew you had it!" He pulled himself together and adjusted the position of his hat. "Sasarai, you're very quiet, but I can tell from your smile that secretly you're laughing a lot."

"I'm not," Sasarai smiled, but he was still flattered. "I'm serious inside too."

"...Sometimes..." Ryuichi turned his head toward the garden and its hanging bunches of wisteria, though his brownish eyes were clearly looking much farther away, "...You've got to laugh so that you don't cry."

Until that moment it would have been almost as hard for Sasarai to imagine Ryuichi crying as it was to picture Hikami acting genuinely amused, but with that sighing gaze, Sasarai suddenly felt that, even if it were long, long ago, at one time, Ryuichi had cried a lot. The bishop kept on looking out at the plants. Sasarai's wide, green eyes turned from Ryuichi's face to his right hand, leaning on the wooden walkway. Cautiously (he didn't think he could do it if his friend turned and saw him in the act), Sasarai set his hand on top of Ryuichi's. His was half the size and many shades paler than that below it, but those were only surface details. Inside, they were sort of the same.

 

Apparently, Bishop Tang had suddenly taken ill and was not to be disturbed. Sasarai, though fretful at the idea of open disobedience, he summoned up some courage to compliment his curiosity and decided that if no one but Ryuichi saw him, there should be no reason to feel guilty.

He crept carefully through the halls of the Temple to the quarters Ryuichi kept. He maintained a cautious eye, glancing this way and that in anticipation of someone catching him and asking what he was up to. He didn't think he could lie about his intentions if he was interrogated about it (and when there were people like Captain Suphina about, that included even gentle asking).

A serving man passed by, but he did not inquire. Even if he had noticed the boy in the hall, it was not his place to ask.

Sasarai opened the door and peered inside. He remembered what Ryuichi had told him when they first spoke. "It's nice to talk with you this time. The first time I saw you, I was told you were a little sick. You were sleeping." But, surely, he had not looked so poor and pale as the man inside this room.

"Sasarai." Hikami and Sangyun were inside. "You should go."

He wondered later whether or not he should have listened. The next time he saw Ryuichi was at his funeral. He attended, under a bright sky, in his best clothes, sandwiched between Sangyun and Somme. He thought he might have liked for one of them to hold his hand.

 

The man who came to fill Ryuichi's prematurely vacated position was called Rico. He didn't have a last name- not everyone held in good esteem by the Temple did- though even with a quarter of Sanadian blood in him, Ryuichi had. He had a large, white smile that he flashed too frequently - Ryuichi's approach had been more measured, his grins saved for meaningful occasions. Like Ryuichi, Father Rico wore his hair long, but his was pale and blond. Outwardly, they were similar, but from their first conversation, Sasarai was aware of the differences. Rico was very friendly, but there was something about him that didn't fit...

The Priests' Council had pushed for Rico to fill Ryuichi's recently vacated seat for reasons Sasarai was not yet fully equipped to understand, even for all that both Hikami and Ryuichi had taught him. Of course, how much could any reasons count for when a plan backfired so quickly?

 

Although Sasarai was aware that his experience of being raised entirely within the bounds of the so-called Crystal Palace wasn't normal, he gave it little active consideration, having nothing to compare it with. Still, Father Rico's inquires concerning it struck him as odd.

"Do you like living at the Temple?"

"Yes, of course."

"Well, do you think you could do me a real big favor and-"

Hikami was quick to catch on that one problematic Counsel member had been replaced with another. And Rico, unlike Ryuichi, would not shy away from pressing his agenda. Hikami had defined his stance with a word Sasarai didn't understand. "Radicals don't last here, Rico," he warned, "And it won’t do to be bringing Sasarai into this mess of yours."

 

He did not bother Sasarai again, but presented the image of someone who was constantly snooping as he went about his business at the Temple. He would run his fingers along the walls, looking for a crack or hinge that would indicate the presence of some hidden door. Within Sasarai's curious sight, he never found one.

All his inflammatory writings and constant searching brought him only an early end. The cerulean seat was marked now by a shadow, hovering under the nickname "the assassination chair." The difference in methods was an indication that the factions involved had not been the same. Sasarai had not come to consider Father Rico his friend. He had lasted at the Circle Temple for two months. His body was burned in a secret ceremony Sasarai wasn't sure could be chalked up to the "northern traditions" that they said called for it. The eerie sight would linger in his mind.

Sasarai listened to Hikami's history lessons with renewed interest in the fates of the two hundred years worth of Counsel member who had gone before. There had been an isolated incident here and there, but nothing that seemed comparable to the recent turnover. He was beginning to recognize it as a symptom of the larger storm of political turmoil boiling just below the nation's surface. Though he did not see himself as directly connected to it, Sasarai, who had barely passed the outer walls of the Temple grounds in his young life, looked at what he knew of Harmonia and saw he lived in troubled times.

 

Then, one day, his father suddenly emerged from his dreams. With him he brought a pressing desire to see Sasarai formally introduced to the Counsel that ruled in his place.

Among those Sasarai had not met, he had observed most as one time or another (even if only when Ryuichi had snuck him along to a past meeting), but many of their number had never paid any heed to him before. The majority had not known Hikusaak's intent for the boy suddenly identified as his son (there were a handful of, "He has a son?" gasps, while other debated the exact sense of the term). Their combined reaction to him was a clear indication that whatever direction the political winds would blow, for Sasarai, they would only become more personal.

*****

Bishop Hikami T'Rainfellour held a total of three terminal degrees from three academic institutions ranked within the ten most prestigious such schools in Harmonia. Perhaps that went some distance toward explaining why the position of main tutor to Sasarai was not his preferred duty. He had also taught a number of other children whose parents were affiliated with the Temple, but despite his low amount of patience for any small children, Sasarai had long harbored the impression that the bishop preferred the others to him.

"We've been thinking that perhaps your theological studies might be continued at the St. Faldor Seminary..." Hikami mused over a stack of tests he was going through with a bottle of red ink by his side.

Who was this "we?" "You think?" Sasarai asked, relieved that Chyun's work sat directly beneath Hikami's hand and not his own. He was younger than the average student his level, but the St. Faldor Seminary was located not far away without the capital's Temple District. What would it be like to study at a school? ...Maybe the idea was a little bit scary.

"Personally, I was somewhat of the mind to keep you here but bring in another student or two to take in the lessons alongside you. I think you'd be better suited for it and it'd be a nice opportunity for some deserving young man to experience a unique education."

"Someone who, um, wouldn't usually be granted such an opportunity?" Sasarai hoped, though he was hesitant to make any out right suggestions regarding that sort of thing.

"Well, if you mean that the position will not be bought- yes." Hikami considered himself above accepting bribes. "I would chose someone with the desire and the aptitude for it."

"Someone who reminded you of yourself?" Sasarai smiled. Hikami was, after all, an illegitimate son whose half siblings had promised an education in exchange for declining any inheritance. That schooling had taken him a long way from Crona.

"As it hasn't been decided upon yet, my criteria remain unfixed," Hikami sniffed, though a twinkle flashed in his eye.

 

Sasarai went with Hikami to be introduced to the headmaster of St. Faldor's. Though he made a decent showing of himself, it was with relief that Hikami revealed it was another young man who would be transferring from the seminary rather than Sasarai entering in. Distracted as introductions were made, Sasarai was left unsure if his name was Fuko and his nickname was Franic because he resembled the folk portrayals of that saint or Francis was his given name and Fuko was the nickname derived from the Harmonian word ( _fukoe_ ) for "forgetful." In either case, "Fuko" was what seemed to stick.

 

At the age of eleven, Sasarai had gained his first real classmate.

 

Fuko was his elder by slightly more than a year. And he really was charming, but that didn't mean Sasarai could decide upon the best way to express the way this positively impacted him. "You've been working hard!" Fuko accosted him one evening, popping into Sasarai's quarters with his hands full of fruit. "You need something to eat?"

A locked door he would respect, but anything less had a tendency to invite him in. "Um, well," Sasarai stammered. While the fruit looked fresh and pretty, he wasn't accustomed to indulging in snacks at this hour.

"Have a peach!" Fuko pressed on onto him.

"...this is a very large peach."

Fuko just laughed and watched for a while as he ate, trying not to drip juice onto his books, before digging into the rest of his rather substantial armload (did he plan on eating all of that?). "My Ma would say you're too scrawny- that you need to put a little meat on your bones and all that."

"Do you-"

"I think it's because you don't have a mother to feed you," Fuko carried on, leaning over and flipping the book ahead several pages, presumably to the place he'd last left off. He stopped talking. It looked like he was reading. He had a penchant for studying in Sasarai's quarters. If they went into his more modest room, he tended to end up just chatting. Sasarai couldn't make out any reason for it. He tried his best to ignore the material Fuko had skipped him fast and pick up reading at the same place. He would fill in the gap later.

 

He fell asleep with his head on the table before Fuko was done. When morning came, he found that someone had helpfully put him (still dressed) in bed.

 

It wasn't that Fuko wasn't good at focusing on his studies. He just liked to take more breaks than Sasarai was used to. "Let's go for a walk," he suggested, giving his classmate's sleeve an encourage tug.

At this hour? Sasarai considered that perhaps he was unusual in thinking it too late to go out. "Okay," he acquiesced, "If that's what you want to do."

When their steps took them into the Temple gardens, Sasarai had to concede that it wasn't as if they had gone into any dangerous area for their walk. Though sprawling, the gardens were pretty much his backyard. The sun had disappeared belong the mountains to the north of the capital and stars were beginning to twinkle above them.

"So, um, is this what you usually do in the evenings, Fuko?" Sasarai trailed half a step after his acquaintance, clasping his hands behind his back.

"Yeah, most days since I've come here. The gardens look different at night from during the day. I nearly got lost the first time. ...But I like the feel of the night air blowing through my hair. I like being out here when there's no one else around. ...Maybe I'm going to run into some patrolling guard and give them quite a scare someday."

"I think they're more aware of your presence than you realize," Sasarai answered. That kind of thing might happen with some of the newer guards and trainees, but those like Captain Suphina were more alert than most casual visitors to the Temple suspected.

"Oh. Hmm. Um, Temple guards," Fuko addressed the bushes, "Please don't suddenly jump out and scare me just for the sake of showing me how excellent you are at your job then." He grinned and looked at Sasarai, waiting to see what would happen.

Sasarai wondered if the chance to do so would be tempting.

...Apparently, if there were any guards within hearing distance they could restrain themselves. Fuko clutched his sides and laughed hysterically. There was no doubt that someone could hear him now.

"So, uh," Fuko pulled himself together, "You're going to be a bigshot Counsel member someday, right? ...And you'll remember me then? As your friendly classmate?"

"You're my only classmate. I think I'd be hard-pressed to forget you very quickly. Anyway, who's to say that you won't also become a Counsel member in the future?"

"Yeah, maybe if you help vote me on," Fuko suggested, "Pull some influence with the other Counsel members... I doubt I could do it on my own. I'm kind of a nobody."

"I think there's a whole variety of factors that feeds into it... Not everyone on the Counsel started out with some overflowing amount of wealth and power behind them."

"Uh-huh." Despite his affirmative answer, it didn't sound like Fuko believed it.

History said it happened, but Sasarai couldn't claim not to understand Fuko's position.

 

"Ultimately, I'll be stuck doing whatever the higher ups want of me, but if it were up to me, I'd go into teaching," Fuko rambled on, possibly more for his own benefit than for Sasarai's. Having run that line of thought into the ground, Fuko turned around to see what Sasarai was doing.  
He was staring out the second-story window at annual whitewashing of the Temple walls going on below. "I think I saw a flying squirrel," Sasarai remarked after several moments of Fuko's silence.

"...You think when we're photographed this weekend with the rest of the St. Faldor's graduating class the others guys are going to wonder who we are?"

"Well, I imagine they'll remember you."

Fuko got out of his seat and came to join Sasarai, peering out through the two-toned glass. "Hey. Let's go help with the paint job."

The possibility hadn't occurred to him. "Why? Would you like to?"

"Yeah, sure. Why not?" Fuko shrugged, "It'll be fun. They can always use more hands and I can blab just as much out there." It didn't take any more convincing. Fuko rolled up his sleeves and picked up the ends of his white robe and tucked them into the sash around his waist.

Sasarai tried to follow his lead.

The outermost ring of the Temple was bustling with workers assembling and scrambling up and down quickly assembled wooden scaffoldings. There was, of course, screening that went on to determine who would be allowed in to participate in the work, but it still meant that a sizable swath of Harmonian society that rarely saw the inside of the walls was busy painting them.

The paint cans were heavy, the summer sun was hot, and Sasarai's sleeves kept on slipping back down (how did Fuko get his to stay up so well?). But the human aspect of the atmosphere was a welcoming mixture of mainly second class citizens. Although there were few clerics joining in the manual labor side of the job, some were directing the handling of supplies and checking over the whitewashing job to be sure that each section of the curved wall was repainted properly, ensuring that the famous white of the Temple remained spotless and lovely for the sight of locals and visitors alike (of course, locals knew that the Temple was not always without visual blemish, but visitors could be quietly deceived).

 

From a second-story window in the building opposite the one Fuko and Sasarai had deserted, Hikami's dark eyes fell casually onto the upkeep operation below, widening in irritated surprise as he picked his students out of the crowd (Fuko fit in so well he could have escaped notice longer, but Sasarai had an awkwardness with physical labor that drew the eye to him as he staggered about under the weight of an unopened paint can).

"What are Fuko and Sasarai doing out there?" he asked, leaning forward and putting his fingers up against the colored glass, in a rather childish manner.

Mother Somme assumed it was a rhetorical question and shrugged.

 

By the time Hikami managed to retrieve them, both young men had acquired sunburns that would not fade in time for their appearance in the newly ordained class group photo along with their more orthodoxly educated colleagues.

Sasarai was the smallest among them. Fuko sat beside him up front. Twelve young men, St. Faldor's Seminary's "Class of 458." Sasarai and Fuko leaned close together and flashed their regular smiles- one modest and one ambitious.

They parted four days later on good terms with their first official assignments as priests in hand. Fuko's took him southeast to the border with Highland. Sasarai's, predictably, did not move him an inch from the capital. He would be a bishop as soon as it could be managed, and he would be a bishop here.

"I imagine, even if you don't get the time to write," Fuko laughed, "I'll be seeing you around."

"How so?"

"Newspapers, rumors, stuff like that. You're gonna be famous, remember?"

"...I'd rather it be you than me," Sasarai shook his head.

"And so humble!" Fuko joked, "Isn't this a kid the people can relate to?"

"...You're only a year older than me."

 

The bishop's hat and the Counsel seat came as swiftly and easily as _Father_ Fuko had predicted.

He wrote infrequently, until he no longer wrote at all.

There was nothing particularly cruel or unexpected about that.

*****

Life as a Counsel member was exhausting. Everyone wanted a piece of his time and attention and, though it made him feel like a spoiled child to say so, most of his colleagues did not like him. That made a difficult job even harder.

 

"Have you ever met any members of the Orsini family?" Perhaps, Hikami considered, he should have broached this topic before there were only twelve more miles remaining between his group and the Orsini stronghold of Paquin.

"Only in passing, I think," Hikami's secretary, Father Asa, said, with a slight tremor creeping into his voice as he struggled with the possibility that his answer wasn't completely on target.

"Trust me, Asa," Hikami chuckled despite himself, "If you'd had significant contact with an Orsini- _any_ Orsini- you would know about it."

"How so?" Sasarai queried. He doubted it needed to be said that he had no past dealing with this family. He didn't think he could even claim to have spoken with anyone out of House Orsini at a party or over the stacks at the library based on Hikami's amused remark.

"They have a reputation for being extremely gregarious. ...Nine Orsini out of ten it's well deserved. ...And then there's the favor giving. That's what you need to be on the lookout for. An Orsini who does something nice for you will probably want something in return. They're very savvy that way. I'm almost inclined to suspect they built Paquin entirely out of called-in favors."

From the heavy-lidded looks that accompanied his sighs, Sasarai had always understood that Hikami disapproved of a wide variety of people and practices, but it was rare for him to openly express these sorts of sentiments. "So... I need to be on guard?"

"Asa, Sasarai, Sangyun," Hikami cautioned all three of them, "You're all soft, so you'd better watch yourselves. ...Do what you like, but don't commit yourselves to anything that would involve me."

"A little hands off today, Bishop?" Sangyun smirked.

"You're adults. You can take care of yourselves."

"Sasarai's not," Asa pointed out, willing to correct his bishop, but never to enjoy it. He wrapped the loose end of his ribbon-bound twist of hair around one finger.

"He's a bishop," Hikami countered.

"The main family has kids about his age," Sangyun offered diplomatically. "They can show him around during his downtime."

"It's okay, Sangyun," Sasarai took his eyes away from the window. "I'll be fine." From the outside, Paquin didn't look like the home of chatty, social-climbers. The gray, currently snow-dusted walls made the city into a fortress. Sasarai didn't imagine it would be like the garrison at Kin-Nyang or filled with mercenaries like Caleria (not that he had personally ever visited these locations). Instead, Paquin would be quietly bustling with folk quite ordinary aside from the shields, axes, and halberds slung without comment at their sides.

His fantasies were not borne out by the facts. There were armed soldiers scattered about Paquin's streets, but the ordinary citizens looked just that- ordinary. The thick heaps of snow piled up on the sides of the road were more impressive. "Certainly you've seen snow before, living in Crystal Valley," Sangyun responded to Sasarai's gaping.

"I've never seen so much at once!"

"He wouldn't know what to make of the chunks of ice we ended up with back home in Crona's harbor, would he, Hikami?" Asa squeaked out a giggle.

"He couldn't handle that kind of cold."

"I probably couldn't," Sasarai agreed.

 

There was an excellent turnout to meet them. Cathon Orsini, the current head of the clan, and his wife, the bishop of Paquin and every significant member of his staff, several chief aides to Cathon, and all six of the Orsini lord's children, ranging in age from a girl probably a few years younger than Sasarai to a distinctly adult man in uniform. Everyone was cordial, but the two youngest Orsini were quick to flee as soon as their parents released them. Sasarai's eyes traced their retreat until they were out of sight. He could've sworn they'd been observing him specifically.

When talks were concluded for the days, things fractured about the same way Hikami and Sangyun had expected them to. Paquin's bishop took Hikami, the aides converged on Sangyun, Mrs. Orsini had her eyes on Asa (for reasons unknown- perhaps she simply found him cute), and Sasarai was left alone with Cathon.

"You really do resemble the chief priest."

"Yes, I believe it's one of the only things about me I've been able to determine he's proud of," Sasarai attempted to use the truth of his life to make small joke.

"He can't hold a candle to yours, but I do know a fragment of the difficulty of having a famous father to live up to."

It was funny for a middle-aged layman politician to be telling him this, but Sasarai would admit that it put him at ease. Hikami wouldn't have said all those things about the Orsini without reason, but, as represented by Cathon, Sasarai considered them to be very nice people.

"Course, I'm sure a young fellow like yourself would rather spend his visit to Paquin doing something fun than chatting with an old man."

"Who?" Sasarai was momentarily puzzled, "Oh, no, that's not true. You're perfectly fine company, Lord Orsini."

"You're a nice young man, Sasarai," Cathon reached out, but stopped just short of putting his hand on Sasarai's shoulder. He might have momentarily let his guard down, but this was a bishop, not a mere boy. "If you walk down that hall into the west wing of the manse, there's a good view of the garden covered in snow," he pointed instead. "The topiaries appear exceedingly strange with their white coats on."

"Thank you for the tip. I suppose I'll take a look if I have your leave, sir."

"Go on, take it easy."

With such large panels of glass lining the southern side of the hall, it was no wonder this portion of the mansion was colder than the rest. Sasarai tugged his scarf a little tighter around his neck, but despite the drop in temperature he was still drawn toward the winter scene in the garden, stepping closer and closer to the window until his nose and palms were pressed up against the glass. "Snow," he sighed. The meager snow that fell on Crystal Valley most winters was quick to melt and leave the streets and gardens grimy. Paquin presented the scene of a perfect, picturesque winter. It was like a daydream or a fairy tale.

A quick glance indicated there was no one around to see him indulge in his silly desires. Sasarai gathered up his courage and rushed off through the nearest door out into the yard, his striped, fringed scarf flapping behind him.

The snow was thick and marked with patches of ice. He hadn't been outside for a minute before he slipped and fell forward, his only his hands keeping his face from hitting the ground.

His palms stung, but generally snow made for a softer surface to fall on than other things he might expect to find beneath his feet. His high spirits undeterred, Sasarai sat up and scooped up a handful of snow, rounding it into a roughly spherical shape. His fingers tingled with the cold, their pinkness fast turning to red, but the snowball didn't remain in his hand for long before he tossed it across the yard with the strongest swing he could manage. It flew over the gelid garden in a gentle arc, dropping back into the rest of the barely bothered snow with a soft splat.

Sasarai stared at the spot it fallen and watched his breath as it crept from his lips to hang spectrally in the cold air. Everything was so white, so pretty.

And then he reeled as a blow connected with the side of his head, sending snow spattering through his hair and onto his shoulder, both under and over his scarf.

He staggered and tried to shake off the daze to identify the culprit.

While only one snowball had struck him, technically there were two. The youngest Orsini children watched him and waited. The boy, with golden hair twisted up in a braid and pinned across the back of his head, wore his father's enormous, audacious grin. The girl, tiny and pale-haired, had a stern stare reminiscent of Bishop Hikami in his icier moments. It was a strange look on someone her age and size.

The miniscule girl whispered something he couldn't quite catch. "What was that?"

"You're, uh," her brother laughed, "A klutz."

"Oh." Sasarai reached up and brushed the dusting of snow out of his hair. "Do you, um," he didn't know exactly how to say this, or whether or not he would be able to.

"You are in for the snowball fight of your life, buddy!" the young man cackled, scooping up two handfuls of snow right then and there.

Sasarai was overwhelmed and thrilled all at once.

 

"I'm not sure I caught your name before."

"Lucas Orsini," he grabbed Sasarai's hand and gave it a hearty (and unexpected) shake. "And you're Sasarai."

"...that's right." Was the world really this full of loud, gregarious people? What was stimulating could also be _over_ -stimulating. In that respect, Sasarai thought he could understand his father's self-imposed isolation.

"I imagine no one ever mixes you up with anyone else on account of your name."

It was funny. "Actually, my father does."

"Geez," Lucas groaned theatrically, "No one gets a break, huh? Your own father- Oh." His eyes widened, but his face didn't pale the way many others' did when they became suddenly aware that by having this sort of casual conversation they were discussing Hikusaak. "Huh. So even His Holiness makes slip-ups."

"He's sort of in his own world a lot," Sasarai shrugged.

"...One he's always dragging you into?"

"Well, not so actively... I mean, he always meant for me to do these things... I, um-"

"You and I are in the same boat, then?"

Sasarai wondered if Lucas knew how amusing he looked when he raised his eyebrows like that. "Ha ha," he gave in and laughed, "I guess so."

 

"Did you like Paquin?"

Sasarai jumped, leaving one woven sandal behind on the tiled floor. How did his father know he was passing by? ...And not just that, but that he was idling by, close enough to hear that voice speak to him from behind closed doors.

Should he step nearer? Was this to be taken as an invitation to conversation?

"Yes," he shuffled back to retrieve his lost sandal, but kept his distance from the door roughly constant. "Very much so. ...Part of me almost wished I could stay there."

"You'll go back."

"Yes, I imagine. The Orsini want very much to get their foot in the door when it comes to national politics."

"...If you want to be an Orsini so fervently, you'll have to marry one of their women."

At that moment, Sasarai was glad the heavy door stood between them. He could only guess at what sort of befuddled look marred his flushed face. Hikusaak's remark had sounded quite dry, but he had never known his father to make jokes (he was a bit too otherworldly for jokes, Sasarai supposed). "F-Father?"

"Of course, I'd still need you here in the capital, so don't give it much thought. Your future is here. Ties to a noble family, however unorthodox or...even underdog-ish they might be, would only weigh you down."

Hikusaak's voice trailed off to the point where Sasarai could no longer hear him. He edged closer to the door, finally putting his ear up against the decorative wood. "...Father, may I ask you a question?"

No response was neither a yes nor a no.

"Did you have many friends in your youth?"

"I don't remem... Oh, yes. Very many. ...But that's too sad a thing. All of them are gone. ...To have friends is...a difficult thing."

Were these words enlightening or not? If there was anything his father knew of, it was time. "In Paquin, I made a friend."

"You have a very long time yet. ...For both making friends and losing them."  
Was this outlook of his father's cynical or simply realistic? Did he have no idea of the friends that had already slipped through Sasarai's fingers in these fifteen years? He trembled slightly, wondering, in the face of such things, what he should do or say.

He did not know his father, he thought, and his father did not know him.

"I will make many friends," he resolved aloud for his father's benefit. "And I will keep them as best as I can. ...And, even beyond that, I will keep all of them properly _separate_ in my memory. I will not forget them."

"I see," was all Hikusaak said. He fell silent after that, and the silence lasted so long that Sasarai, nervous under the curious gaze of passing clerics of such rank as to be allowed into the innermost circle of the Temple who wondered why he lingered against the chief priest's door, was nearly about to leave. "They will love you then, and despair."

 

Though they did not meet again in person for nine months, Lucas Orsini did not forget him. On the contrary, he seemed to have remembered and thought about Sasarai considerably more than the younger man had expected.

"I heard that you're going to lead troops for the first time- to provide support to Highland. ...You're not scared?"

"Terrified," Sasarai grinned. Behind him, the girl packing his gear giggled.  
"You're full of surprises, aren't you?" Lucas lightened up in response to this unexpected show of humor on Sasarai's part.

"That's the prerogative of any individual," the young bishop continued to smile.

"And here I thought you were shy..."

"Compared to you, _everyone_ is shy."

Impulsive as always, Lucas reached out and grabbed his right hand, squeezing it tightly, "You better come back in one piece, Sasarai. ...'Cuz, I don't know if this is a tad disloyal, but, even if your father mixes you up with someone else, to me, there's only one Sasarai- who can't be replaced."

Sasarai was a bit slower to speak his loyalties. His life and his peers had proved too capricious. But, on a certain level, he felt the same. Though there were many Lucs and Lucians and Lucases, there was only one Lucas Orsini.

"All the necessary precautions will be taken. I will return to Harmonia, hopefully in much the same condition as I'm leaving."

"Victorious?"

"Now, I can't promise that."

"If it were me, I would."

He was probably right. And perhaps someday this friendship would only lead to despair, but his friend came closer than his father to understanding his true feelings. Today, Sasarai laughed.


End file.
